


Stellar

by vintage_granddad



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Trans Steve Rogers, but follows the canon, trans male author idk if that matters, trans male steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:23:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintage_granddad/pseuds/vintage_granddad
Summary: "The serum was not ready. But more important, the man. The serum amplifies everything that is inside, so good becomes great; bad becomes worse. This is why you were chosen. Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are, not a perfect soldier, but a good man." During the Great Depression, a young, trans Steve Rogers falls in love with his best friend, ultimately creating an unbreakable bond. And, by a supposed mistake of modern science, Steve Rogers is finally able to live as himself, at a cost.





	1. Waves To Shore

**Author's Note:**

> I tried my very best to keep as close to canon within the parameters of the concept of this fic, and also to keep within some semblance of historical accuracy. Huge shout out to my amazing writing team, "Violent Honk" and (as always) my forever girl, for being there for me in the middle of the night and validating me every step of the way, for prompting me and reading the same paragraph a million times. Also for doing probably all of the research and fact checking that went into this fic. This is probably the most important work I will ever write, certainly the most near and dear to my heart, and it has truly been a ball. I hope you like reading it as much as I did writing it. As always, thank you.

_New York City, December 1941  
_

The nation is on the cusp of war; Bucky can feel it right in his marrow, he can hear it in the tremor on the newscaster’s voice on the radio broadcasts. He knows, from a lifetime of buildup, that something is about to happen. Born into the post-war economic collapse of the early nineteen hundreds, Bucky has lived his whole life in American strife and turmoil, and he knows something big is happening. Things are bad, and they’re about to get a whole lot worse. But all things considered, his life is pretty good. Although he’s struggling, he has got a steady job. He’s got a loving family: siblings and parents that they have dinner with every Sunday. He’s got his own apartment, and wakes up every morning with his arms around his best friend. 

He knows, just as he knows that something dark is brewing behind the closed doors of the global leaders, that this nice thing he’s got just can’t last. Which is why he isn’t surprised when they learn of the attacks on Pearl Harbor the following day. 

It was one of those _events_ , you know. It was a shock to the nation. The country began revving up for war, and everyone was talking in alternating fervent and hushed voices. _What were you doing when you learned of the attacks on Pearl Harbor?_ Bucky must have heard the question fifty times in the weeks following. _Are you going to enlist?_ When something awful, truly awful, happens in the world, it’s like every living person has got a scab on their hands. And they keep picking at it, and prodding at it. And it bleeds and it bleeds, but it always eventually heals. It eventually goes away. 

It’s not gonna heal this time. It’s gonna get infected. 

Bucky knows this, and he picks at it anyways. He holds the only person he ever loved at night, clings with his unclean hands, to a lifeboat. To the last good thing. The last _safe_ thing. And he prays. He’s not a praying man, but he prays. 

He’s scared. 

+++ 

_New York City, August 1925_

They were maybe about seven. Bucky was walking home from the park when he heard the commotion in an alleyway. Normally, he would stay away: when you hear fighting, it’s usually a robbing, and he can’t take an adult in a fight, and he certainly didn’t want to be robbed himself. So when he approached the opening between two buildings and saw kids his own age squabbling, he had to pause a minute. It was three kids all ganged up on one smaller kid. They all had no shirts or shoes and one of the bigger boys had a bat; not just any bat, but one of those nice, shiny metal ones that Bucky had asked for for Christmas. When you hit a baseball with it, it made such a satisfying ringing sound. As Bucky would soon find out, it didn’t sound half as pretty when it struck a person. 

But the kid didn’t give up, just got up again and again, tiny, bloodied fists up and ready to fight. The kid swayed on their feet, “I can do this all day.” And Bucky knew he had to step in because the kid was gonna get killed if this went on much longer. 

Bucky was stronger and faster, a much better street fighter than the lot of them. They didn’t see him coming, and after a couple blows each, he sent them running. The small kid tried to help, but that mostly amounted to kicking the shins of the boys who had already fallen. 

When the last of them had gone, Bucky turned to the kid. “What was that about?” He asked, but as the kid was about to answer, Bucky cut in, “never mind. I don’t need to know. It’s not important. You okay?” The kid nodded, and Bucky took that tiny chin in his hand, lifting it to better examine the damage to the kid’s face. “Doesn’t look good,” he muttered. 

“Never looked good,” the kid said in a strange voice. They both laugh a little and Bucky knows instantly that he likes this kid. 

“You got a name?” He asked, pulling his hands away and stuffing them in his pockets. 

“Rogers.”  

“Bucky.”  

“Bucky,” Rogers repeated in a quiet voice, and smiled. Bucky felt warm inside. He liked that smile; it’s crooked and bloody and missing a couple teeth, but ultimately, it’s a good smile. A genuine smile. Bucky took half a second to take a good look at Rogers. The kid was like spaghetti noodles, thin to the point of almost looking too long, though that’s not uncommon nowadays. Not that Bucky remembers a time when it wasn’t like that. That’s just how people are, haunting and hollow. Rogers has these blue blue eyes, clear as the summer sky, and hair the color of straw. It’s real short, like it got shaved off and had been grown out without a cut for maybe two or three months; not trimmed around the ears, all one length. 

Bucky slung one arm around those thin shoulders and led the kid back to his house, where he bandaged the wounds and gave Rogers some clean clothes. Then he offered to walk Rogers home, because he was maybe a little scared those boys will be out with a vengeance. 

They took the longest possible route, and they made games about it, racing and doing two steps forward, one step back, jumping over every fallen leaf or petal or wet spot or piece of trash. The sky is pink, and it reflected in Rogers’ hair, making it golden and beautiful, and Bucky was thinking that he just befriended a real life angel, and made a note to check the bible to see if there is one named Rogers in there. He thinks there will be. 

When they got up to Rogers’ apartment, the woman who answers the door has got messy hair and a worried face. She’s thin, too, though not as thin. She immediately crouched and pulled Rogers into a hug, sighing with relief. “Stella,” she cried, “you had me worried sick!” She pulled back, hands on Rogers’ shoulders, “what happened to you? Who did this? Whose shirt is this? Where did your shirt go?” Her voice had that tone that’s clearly upset but trying not to be upset. 

“I made a friend,” is all that Rogers said, and instantly, her face softens. She cupped Rogers’ cheek, and finally looked at Bucky for the first time. 

“I’m Mrs. Rogers,” she tells him in a gentle voice, “you can call me Sarah.” 

+++ 

_New York City, 1938_

Bucky has been waiting for this day for a long time. He examines his face, leaning in close to the mirror, and he feels as though he can still see himself as he used to be: a child, bursting with excitement. He shaved this morning, but he’s a little nervous, and thinks maybe he should do it again, just to be sure he didn’t miss a spot. Not that his betrothed would care anyways. 

The ceremony isn’t as much for them as it is for Bucky’s ma, and, to a lesser degree, for Sarah, watching over them in Heaven. It’s what they want to see. Bucky’s mother has been waiting _years_ for this. He can still remember that day it became official, when they were finally going steady; when he came home from dinner at the Rogers household, with red lipstick smeared on his cheek, grinning so hard he thought his face would split clear in half. How his mom had been waiting up for him, how she knew without him having to even say anything. 

The morning after was the kicker; his younger sisters had already gotten word of it and were screaming and running around him in energetic circles. There was no calming them. Bonnie grabbed his left wrist and Becca grabbed his right, both tugging and trying to get his attention. 

_Bucky, Bucky, are you gonna get married?_

_Is Stellar Stella a good kisser?_

_Are you in looooove?_

Of course, the answer was always a resounding yes. _God yes_. 

Bucky’s ma had made the dress, and she did a great job, all things considering. They didn’t have a whole lot of money to buy a new one, so she really stepped forward, making a beautiful white gown - Bucky would later make jokes about that, about the _white_ gown, how it was supposed to represent virtue and purity. Not that he thought that Rogers was anything other than pure and virtuous, but had Bucky’s ma known the things they did in the dark, she’d _never_ had made the dress white. 

The Rogers family, which at that point was just “poor little Stella,” was just that - _poor_. And since it was customary for the bride’s family to pay for a wedding, there hadn’t been much hope for a lavish wedding like you’re expected to dream of. And Mrs. Barnes wouldn’t have it. No son, and _certainly_ no daughter-in-law, of hers would have a wedding without flare. And so she had set to making the dress. It had to be done with rayon instead of silk, because it was cheaper - but it looked just as nice. It was a long, white piece that gathered at the waist - because “Stella’s small all over but she has _such_ a _tiny_ waist!” 

As he straightens his tie for the hundredth time, Bucky thinks about his life. He thinks forward, to a wonderful future he knows he will have with his best friend, and he thinks back on how far the two of them have come. 

Mostly, he thinks about December. He’s pretty sure it was in 1933, although he isn’t so great with dates, and the truth is that it doesn’t really matter. Bucky’s family still visited that house in Connecticut regularly, the one that his grandfather had built up on a lake, leaving it to his children and all their children. The Barnes family would gather there at least twice a year - once in summer, and once around Christmas time. Often, Bucky would bring Rogers along for the adventure. That particular year, there wasn’t enough room in the car for everyone to go at once, so Bucky brought his best friend a week early. 

They spent the week play acting at being adults. Rogers often would work outside in the snow, building marvelous sculptures with bare hands. Rogers would stay out there until Bucky forced that freezing, suffering artist inside, sticking thin hands between his own thighs to help warm them. It was on one such occasion that the truth came out. It seems, so often that the truth overlaps with secrets. Though, Bucky supposes, that on some level, he had known all along. So when Rogers said, in what was supposed to be a brave voice, _my name is Steve_ , Bucky was hardly taken aback. It didn’t mean that he loved Rogers any less. It didn’t change a god damn thing. 

He didn’t fully understand, not at first, the gravity of the situation. Because semantics, language and rhetoric, all they were were ways to frame the world around him. Just words to describe everything he experienced. And it didn’t matter to Bucky. No matter how you phrased it, he was in love, head over heals _in love_ with his best friend. Made no difference if he called that person Steve or Stella. His heart would still swell at the though of coming home to those skinny arms, regardless of gender. 

And _that_ in itself was a shock. A bigger shock than the fact that his friend was a boy. But it made sense, didn’t it? It made sense, with everything that had happened. He _loved_ Rogers. 

That next morning, while Steve was in the shower, Bucky went to work. He laid a pair of his own slacks out on that wooden dining room table, and cut half a foot off the bottom; they would still be too big around the waist, and quite possibly still too long. But it was the thought, the preparation that mattered. He and Steve could cut them and hem them better later, and he was pretty sure he had a pair of old suspenders kicking around somewhere in that closet upstairs. The shoes would be a mess, of course. They could stick old newspapers in them, perhaps, or maybe just go around the house barefoot. It gave him a rush, somehow. There was something about it, about taking care of Steve, that made him feel alive. 

Bucky leans closer into the mirror and whispers _Steve_ to himself, smiling. He likes the way it feels in his mouth, always finds reason to say it. He knows he’s got to get moving soon, and he doesn’t mean to drag his feet or be vain, but there’s this part of him that really just _needs_ this to be perfect - as perfect as it can be under the circumstances. Everything’s gotta be just so, for no reason other than that Steve deserves that much. Bucky feels as though he owes it to him; he’s got to be the best he can be, because Steve deserves that and so so much more. 

He knows that in the other room, his little sisters are giving Stevie a hard time. Not because they want to be difficult, but because they love him so much. The two of them combined had saved and saved, scraping together every penny they found on the side of the road and earned doing odd jobs for neighbors. They used up what little money they had to buy this really nice lipstick, red like raspberries. Bucky knows that the two of them, with their precious, earnest faces, were able to convince the seller into giving them a deal - for only a little more, they were able to get a nail polish to match perfectly. 

Bucky had warned Steve about this, about how his family would get with the wedding coming, and he hopes that it isn’t too stressful for him. But the warning didn’t change the whirlwind that was the Barnes women with a task ahead of them. Bucky’s ma had allowed for Becca and Bonnie to use her Special Occasion Makeup - the powders and creams that they weren’t ever even allowed to touch - to put on Steve’s face for the ceremony. 

Bucky’s ma had this pretty purple powder that went with that special cheek rouge, and while it didn’t make a difference to Steve - he couldn’t see the color either way - Bucky tells him it was _made_ for him. God, he looks so good, and it’s not because of the mascara or the lipstick. No, it’s because Steve had been so pale, so sickly for his whole life, the only color that ever graced his pallid face was from cuts and bruises, and it made him look healthier in a way, less fragile. But it was something else. A glowing, Bucky thinks. He knows that Steve feels out of his skin, but he’s happy, he’s radiant nonetheless. 

It’s a small ceremony, with their family and a few of their friends. Though, they never had much need for other friends. They had each other, and that was enough. Bucky’s friends were people he worked with and Steve’s were his classmates. And the group of them would sometimes go out dancing or drinking, but the truth was that no one really knew them. 

The reception is held in Bucky’s parents house. They had moved all the furniture to the sides of the room, and put flowers up and had a stack of records to play. Throughout the night, Steve nervously picks off all the nail polish that Becca had taken such time and effort in painting on perfectly. Bucky makes a huge show of dancing with Steve. He brings out all the stops, all the fancy twirls and fast steps and dips. He knows Steve is uncomfortable dancing in such a nice dress - and just being in a dress at all, but that doesn’t stop them. 

Bucky takes Steve to the cabin in Connecticut for their honeymoon. They don’t really have money for a real vacation, not in the way that Bucky would like. But it’s removed from everyone, so they’re free to just exist as they are with no fear of ridicule. There’s no fights to pick, nothing to stand up for save to open a window and let some fresh air in. 

The drive is only about an hour. And of fucking course, the first thing that happens when they arrive is Bucky carries Steve up the stairs to the bedroom on the left and lays him down. Bucky carefully unstraps those nice white heels that Steve had _such a hard time_ walking in - let alone _dancing_. He tosses them aside unceremoniously, then turns him over, slowly unzipping the back of that dress. He was grateful for the zipper, though he knows it was just a function of the times - buttons were getting _so_ expensive. But the zipper was easy, less fumbling required than buttons, certainly. He slips the dress off, and sets it on the desk chair with more care than he had treated those shoes. Stevie is still lying there on that bed, watching him with a wicked grin. 

He undoes his tie and kicks off his shoes and there’s a part of him that wants to make a show of it, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to wait that long. Steve is sitting now, peeling off his stockings, and Bucky drapes his tie around Steve’s neck. He unbuttons his shirt with quick, practiced movements and pulls it off the same way. Bucky slips it over Steve’s shoulders, and Steve struggles for a second, trying to put his skinny arms through the sleeves. 

Bucky wonders if this is what Steve feels like. Breathless. He knows what it’s like, of course, because he’s done sports and manual labour, but this is different. He can breathe, but he feels as though he’s not getting enough air. Maybe it’s the soft lighting, or possibly the makeup or the perfume. It could be the way his sisters did Steve’s hair, or the the tie around his neck, or any number of things. But Steve is so beautiful right in this moment, with his small breasts just barely visible under the pooling fabric of Bucky’s shirt, with that ring shining on his dainty little finger, with everything that they’ve been through leading up to this moment right now, and a whole life together ahead of them. His chest feels so tight and so _full_ and he knows he’s in love. 

Not just the kind of love that his parents have, or his peers have. But a love that really transcends the words he knows. Like something from pages of a book. Like a love that can wake up a princess from a thousand year sleep. It’s inevitable. He couldn’t have stopped it if he had tried. As true as waves to shore, he loves Steve, he will always come back to him. 

And as they lay tangled in a sleepy post-coital haze, he hears Steve whisper. And his voice is soft and sweet and higher than he’d like but beautiful all the same. _I’m glad_ , he says, _I’m glad that it’s you_. And Bucky pulls him closer, swelling, crashing, meeting the shore. He’s glad, too. 

+++ 

_Connecticut, May, 1934_

Bucky Barnes arrives to his family’s Connecticut summer home with his new boyfriend, old best friend, Steve Rogers a week early, as per usual. He had offered to drive down, clean the place up a bit, open the windows and air it all out in preparation for his family’s many anticipated weekend retreats at the cabin. The water was still too cool to swim in at this point, but the sand was warm enough and if you were brave enough, which Bucky definitely was, going in up to your ankles wasn’t all that bad. Going in deeper, was, however, all that bad, but he went in all the way to his hips just to prove a point. 

Rogers followed him to his knees before Bucky decided maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. He didn’t want to risk Stevie getting hypothermia when it was just the two of them out there all alone. It would ruin the fun of it. Start the whole summer off on the wrong foot. But it was enough to get them sufficiently cold, which in turn, led them to the upstairs bedroom on the left side, with the big soft mattress and all those winter quilts still on it. 

It was their first summer together _as a couple_ , but it felt no different from every other summer Bucky had ever had. He had a great feeling about this one though. He had big, big plans. He had a job lined up, to start at the end of the month, and planned on saving up all summer for something Big for Stevie’s birthday. He wasn’t exactly sure yet, but he knew it would be good. He wasn’t above grand gestures of romantic affection. 

His mom kinda beats him to the gift giving though, arriving at their summer home with a beautiful summer frock for his beloved. It really is lovely; a green fabric with pink flowers, a loose fit, probably, given Steve’s stature, and a fabric that is very forgiving, a good cinch at the waist. Rogers turns bright red when he sees it. 

_Stella_ , Bucky’s ma is saying, _I saw this and I thought of you and I just thought you had to have it._

Bucky knows that his ma thinks Steve’s embarrassment stems from his coming from a family significantly poorer than Bucky’s own. And he’s sure that contributes to it. But he knows better, now. It’s not that Rogers is a tomboy, it’s that he _is_ a boy, and no one sees him that way. Bucky’s ma thinks him one of her own daughters, something that Bucky is grateful for, don’t get him wrong. He’s glad his mother has taken a liking to the love of his life, but it makes things difficult sometimes. Case in point: her always buying expensive dresses for Steve. 

Bucky knows Steve won’t wear it - or maybe he will, but he certainly won’t like it - so, while Rogers is in the bathroom washing his face, Bucky slips into it. His shoulders are a tad broad for it but the material stretches easily and ultimately, it’s pretty comfortable. He spreads out on the bed in that way that the girls do in those dirty magazines, and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long because Rogers was never one to spend long brushing his hair or whatever it is people do for their nighttime routines. 

He gives his best sly smile when Steve enters the room. He’s lit some candles and drawn the shades to set the mood. When Steve gets closer to the bed, Bucky is up on his knees, and grabs Steve’s wrists, bringing them in turn to his lips, kissing first the backs and then the palms of his frail hands. He lures Steve into the bed wordlessly. 

After, as they’re huddled together naked under the sheets, Steve whispers truths, like he always does. As though he would ever say anything else. _Your ma expects me to wear that dress, Buck, but it’s just not me_. And Bucky knows what he means and his heart aches for him, it really does. He wishes he could make things easy for Stevie. 

The next morning, the smell of Bucky’s ma making coffee is what wakes him from sleep. He’s still got Rogers’ thin arms wound around his torso, but it isn’t so difficult to slip out of them without rousing him. He slips on the dress from last night, a jacket, and some woolly socks because the wood floor is cool from the night, and heads downstairs. 

The early morning light makes everything look like a watercolor painting that Steve had made him for his birthday last year, and his ma and two younger sisters are sitting at the table, already eating breakfast. He rustles their hair as he walks past, right into the kitchen, to get himself a cup of coffee. He sits down and waits. 

Breakfast goes on without a hitch, until, finally, Steve and Bucky’s father come down. That’s when he takes off the jacket and everyone stops for a second. 

_James_ , Bucky’s ma is saying in that stern voice of hers. Bucky feels Steve’s thin fingers on his bare knee under the table. 

_Yeah, ma?_ He asks, in a false innocent voice. 

_That dress was meant for Stella_ , she says, glancing over at her husband. 

_Oh, I know_ , Bucky says, taking a drink of his coffee. He sets it on the table and leans forward, _well, jeez, don’t you think it goes better with my eyes?_ He bats his eyelashes at her, which sets Bonnie and Becca to fits of giggles. 

Bucky takes that opportunity to stand up and get himself another cup of coffee, swaying his hips in that way that those high class girls with the high heels do. The dress swishes around his knees as he walks, it feels free. Before he fills his cup, he spins and spins, wool socks sliding easily on the wooden floor. The dress flares out. He can see, in quick glimpses, Steve and his sisters, covering their mouths in polite laughter. 

He wishes he could die right now: right in this moment, surrounded by everyone he loves. With his ma and her tired-but-not-quite-so-exasperated eye rolling. With his father and his morning cigars and newspapers and black coffee. With Becca and her gap-toothed smile, always looking up to Bucky. With Bonnie and her open-mouthed laugh, sitting with her knobby knees spread apart even though she gets chastised for it. With Steve, most of all, his best friend; with his thin wrists and broken nose from always managing to get himself into fights; with his long hair pulled back and Bucky’s boxers on under his simple dress; with his devious smile and weak stomach and early morning breath and sleepy eyes; with his gentle voice and soft smile; with him. Always, with him. 

+++ 

_New York City, 1942_

His fingers are trembling when he opens the envelope. He already knows inside. It is a condemnation. It is a death sentence. He burns it. He will report for duty, of course, but he will destroy the evidence. He won’t let Steve know. He’ll tell him he volunteered. It won’t be so bad that way. It won’t be like he’s being dragged off, though he is. Steve will be jealous, he knows. He’s already tried to enlist a couple of times but there’s no way they’ll take him. He’s got a list of health problems taller than he is, on top of the whole “being a girl” thing, there was no way he’d make it to combat. 

Bucky would never say as much, but he was glad for it. He didn’t want Steve out there. He wanted him safe at home. And it made no difference how many different places he tried to sign up in, he’d always get that 4F stamp on his file. 

Steve is proud of him, of course. He says that he’s doing the right thing, and that almost makes saying goodbye a little easier. But in the nights following their separation, even though Bucky’s just in Basic, he feels hollow in a way he’d never felt before. Of course, it was only the beginning. 

+++ 

_Germany, 1943_

Bucky lights his match with his thumbnail, perfectly practiced, in the cool dark of the night. They’re in enemy territory, but they’re far enough away from any sort of enemy base or city that they’ve got one small fire at the center of their camp. Bucky had placed himself far enough away from the others as not to draw any sort of attention to himself. He feels he needs his privacy, somehow. He holds the match to the end of his cigarette. He’s getting low on them, but he’s certain that Steve will know to send more soon enough. He’s good like that. 

Bucky takes a long drag, almost too long, but he doesn’t pull away in a fit of coughing. He’s good at holding it in. He thinks about if Steve was here, he would know instantly from his face that it was too big a hit. He hears a rustling to his left and instantly regrets lighting the cigarette. 

_Heya, sarge_ , the man says. Bucky knows he should know the guy’s name, but he doesn’t. Not from his voice alone. There’s two southern guys in his group and he can never quite tell their voices apart. He can’t really see his face, since he’s looking away from the fire, but if he was a betting man, he’d say it was George. _Knew ya were hidin’ something’_. 

Bucky rolls his eyes and hands the lit cigarette over to him. He waits for him to say something else, because hell if he’s going to lead the conversation. He doesn’t even want to talk. 

_Yer old lady sendin’ these over?_ George asks. 

Bucky nods, only to realize that George probably can’t see it. So he says, _not so old_. 

_Whas her name again?_

_Stevie_ , Bucky says, automatically, only realizing after the fact that that isn’t what he said before. He silently prays to a God he doesn’t quite believe in that George doesn’t notice the discrepancy. He’ll tell him he’s got two girls if he has to. Though it’s not like anyone is examining his letters. The return address always says _Stella Barnes_ but that isn’t the sender. 

If George notices, he doesn’t say anything about it. And Bucky takes the cigarette back and is thankful when George doesn’t say anything for a long time. They smoke it in silence, until it’s down to the very end. 

_You don’t say much about her, sarge_ , George muses. _All the other guys, they never stop talking about their gals, but not you. Why is that?_

There isn’t a reason. Bucky’s just not the most talkative guy, lately. And though he’s got a list five miles long of good things to say about Steve, he almost wants to keep it private. Steve is good, pure, a light that guides him home. He doesn’t want to taint that in any way. Doesn’t want to share him with these guys. He feels sometimes, as though talking about him would somehow put him in danger. 

Bucky just shrugs and wordlessly hands the cigarette back to George. 

George accepts it, but instead of taking a pull says, _I don’t have a girl. I ended it when I enlisted, you know, in case I didn’t come back. I thought it’d make it easier, you see. But I know that your girl, she sends you letters and packages like clockwork. She really loves you._

_I know_ , Bucky says, and then, despite himself, _we were childhood best friends. Thought ourselves inseparable._

_Got a picture of her?_ George asks. And Bucky moves to get it. The moon has risen high above their heads and their eyes have better adjusted to the light now. 

Bucky hands him the one he brought with him, a copy of their wedding photo. But it’s not the best picture he has. The best one, still folded up in his boot, is a self portrait Steve had done right before Bucky left. He drew himself as he was meant to be, he explained to Bucky when he handed it to him. 

In it, Steve’s still small and fragile, but with short hair and a flat chest. He’s got the same face but a squarer jaw. He drew himself sitting on the edge of their bed and Bucky in the middle of either dressing or undressing in the background, fumbling with a button on his shirt. Bucky has folded and unfolded the picture to look at so many times, Steve’s knees and shoulder are basically erased from the fold lines. He said as much, in a letter home, and is expecting a new one in the mail soon enough. 

Bucky feels he’s being kind of rude by not asking George any questions, so he asks about George’s girl - or ex, and listens even though he doesn’t really care. George used to see this girl named Becca who was one of the secretaries for some business in South Carolina. 

When George finally leaves, Bucky settles down and wishes he was home. He wishes for Steve’s thin fingers stroking the side of his face, for their feet tangled together. 

A few weeks later, George died. He got shot in the shoulder, but it got infected, and ultimately there was nothing they could do so far out in enemy territory. Bucky took his tags, and thought every night about writing to that girl George had loved, the girl with Bucky’s sister’s name. But he didn’t know where to send it. He hoped that didn’t happen to him. He tried not to think about it, about his own inevitable death. About the letter Steve would get in the mail. _Stella Barnes, we regret to inform you..._

+++ 

_New York City, 1934_

As luck would have it, Bucky Barnes is nominated for homecoming court his senior year of high school, despite the fact that he has no interest in such matters. To muddy it further, Rogers is a grade below him, which means that they can’t run together. All the other boys who were nominated were nominated with their girlfriends, and Bucky’s got to be the odd one out. The girl that has been nominated by his peers to run with him is Hester, a pretty girl who would be proud to call herself a try-hard. 

All of this wouldn’t be such a big deal for Bucky if it was anyone else, honest. Because everyone and their cousin knows that he’s head over heels for his best friend and most people respect that - though for most it was a hard pill to swallow. They had been dating for quite some time at that point, but they had been a unit for their whole lives. Most people had thought it inevitable that they would end up dating, even if the majority of the student population hoped against it. It had to be the one person who didn’t get the memo that gets paired with him. Steve thinks it’s hilarious, because he doesn’t much care about such things, and lets Bucky know as much. 

The thing is though, that it isn’t just that she hasn’t got it through her head that Bucky’s got himself a girl, but she _likes_ him on top of that. Like really likes him. And she’s not one to take no for an answer. She’s always hanging out in places she knows he’ll be and he wouldn’t even mind all that much if he didn’t know her to be such a goddamn ass. 

She’s always making sly digs at Steve and she doesn’t even try to be subtle about it, always cutting him off when he’s talking. It’s rude. And Bucky knows that Steve can handle himself, and if it really bothered him, he wouldn’t hesitate to shut her down, but he’s also pretty sure that Rogers isn’t fully aware that it’s happening. Cause she’s never outright mean to him to his face. It’s always when he’s not there. Usually it’s when Bucky’s not there either, but it always gets back to him. A long winded game of telephone. Some girl will tell him in passing that she overheard Hester talking shit again. 

And Bucky would just blow it off. Just not go. He would so much rather spend the night sprawled out on Steve’s living room floor listening to the radio, but god forbid his mother caught wind of that. She found out and was so dang proud to have her son on homecoming court and he couldn’t just go and let her down like that. Which is how he and Steve end up sitting hand in hand on his couch before the dance, while Bucky’s little sisters fuss with Steve’s makeup. 

_Stella your eyebrows!_ Bonnie is saying. _You should really pluck them. They’re so boyish._

_It’s fine_ , Steve replies, a hint of a smile. 

_Rude_ , is all Bucky says, but squeezes Steve’s hand in reassurance. _I like your eyebrows._

Bonnie is putting mascara on Steve and he’s trying so hard to be still. In the other room, Bucky can hear his mother talking excitedly. He thinks she’s on the phone, though his father is in there, so it could be him she’s talking to. 

_What are you gonna do if Bucky wins?_ Becca asks from where she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. _Are you just gonna let some other girl dance with him?_ She wrinkles her nose at the thought. 

_He’s not gonna win_. Steve looks over at Bucky. _Not with a face like that_. 

But Bucky _does_ win. Not that he’s around to accept his crown, though. Partway through the dance, he and Steve slip out, unnoticed, and find a broom closet to stowaway in. And he’s kissing Steve, hard, pressed up against the locked door. There’s fumbling with the zipper on Bucky’s pants, and then they’re switching places, clumsily in the dark. Steve is spitting in his hand, and while it’s less than ideal conditions, it’s nice. Steve’s fingers are small, anyways. Steve’s small arm is wrapped around Bucky, his hand splayed over his chest. And through the door, Bucky can hear the cessation of music, some male voice over the microphone, probably announcing the winners. He can’t hear exactly what is said, not over Steve’s breathing in his ear and certainly not over the noises that are escaping his own lips, but he’s sure he’ll find out tomorrow. It can wait. 

+++ 

_New York City, 1933_

There is a library that becomes a safe haven for the both of them. It’s nice, clean, and best of all, private. Rogers had a propensity for getting into fights and quite frankly, Bucky was getting tired of bailing Steve out because he wasn’t much of a fighter. Don’t get him wrong, Bucky was excellent at it, he was athletic by nature and over-protective of his partner, which was a dangerous combination for those who crossed his path. Steve was picking fights all summer and Bucky would have to come sweeping in to fix things, and it was a little tiring. 

But winter had come, quick and harsh, and Steve had to keep indoors now, God forbid he had an asthma attack in the freezing cold. It's the tail end of December, so they began spending a lot more time around the old public library. It was a good place for Steve to draw, and Bucky would do homework or read for fun. It got to the point where the librarians recognized them, and always greeted them by name. Anne would always greet Steve as “Mrs. Barnes” since Bucky was always checking out his books for him, and he’d be lying if he said that it didn’t give him a small thrill to hear it. He maybe had a small crush on his best friend, and though he tried to keep it hidden, everyone else seemed to know. 

They play a game sometimes, to see who can find the most obscure book title. It’s not as fun as it used to be when they were younger, but sometimes you just need to wander around or you’ll crawl out your skin. But most of the time, Bucky just sits and watches Steve draw. He pretends like he’s not, because he knows that Steve doesn’t like having an audience. 

But he’s so beautiful, God, with his furrowed brow and hunched shoulders, still wearing that old winter coat that doesn’t fit Bucky anymore because, even though it’s warmer than outside, it’s still a bit chilly in the library. He’s biting his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth in concentration. He’s drawing Bucky, but neither of them say anything and Bucky pretends not to notice every time Steve looks up at him, studying his face carefully in the fading afternoon light. Bucky’s got _Jane Eyre_ in front of him, but he’s not read a word past the title. His focus is all on Stevie, on the page in front of him. He’s got a brand new sketchbook, one that Bucky had given him for Christmas, and his heart aches that Steve thinks his face is worthy to grace a piece of that precious paper. 

_Maybe_ , he thinks, _just maybe, it isn’t so one-sided after all_. 

+++ 

_New York City, 1933_

In the fall, word gets around that Mary Ellen has a crush on Bucky, so he asks her out. And it goes terribly. He had spent most of his money on a Christmas present for Rogers, so penniless, he decides to take her on a picnic. They go to Coney Island and it’s windy as all hell, and it’s cold and neither of them dressed appropriately for the weather. 

But she laughs at all his jokes and doesn’t seem to mind that he’s messed up almost every step of the way. She’s got crooked teeth and dimples and she does her hair in ribbons and these perfect curls. She’s got those ruby red lips like Rogers sometimes has (though Bucky knows that Rogers wears it more to please Sarah than herself). She’s got one of those nice sundresses and those shoes with all the straps and it’s clear that she put a lot of time into how she looked for the date. 

Bucky brings her flowers (which he stole), and wore his nicest button down shirt and picks her up ten minutes late and her dad was there saying something along the lines of _no shenanigans_ and Bucky was only half listening. But when the date is drawing to a close, Mary Ellen is dragging her feet and Bucky knows what’s coming. He’s kissed girls before, and considers himself good at it. 

They get caught in the rain and so she only gives him a quick peck on the cheek and nothing more happens. They go out a few more times, working their way up to making out on a park bench. Rogers teases him endlessly about it when they hang out together after class. Bucky claims it’s because Rogers is jealous of Mary Ellen. Rogers jokingly punches him in the arm in response and they end up wrestling each other to the ground, Bucky on top. And their faces are so close, and they’re breathing heavy and Bucky’s heart is beating so fast, it’d go right out his chest if not for his ribs, honest. But he climbs off and helps Rogers to her feet and that’s that. They spend the rest of the afternoon listening to baseball over the Barnes’ radio. 

But the next night, while Bucky is walking Mary Ellen home from their fifth (or maybe sixth?) date, they stop. And he’s got her pinned to the wall and she’s kissing him like she’s waited her whole life for this, like he’s dying tomorrow. Fervent, needy, sloppy. And she’s pressed against him and he’s getting lost in it and he almost didn’t even know he’d said it. He didn’t mean to, if that counts for anything. It just slipped out. He didn’t even say it, so much as moaned it right into her mouth; _Stella_. Naturally, she slapped him, and they didn’t go on any more dates after that. 

Bucky doesn’t tell Rogers why they broke up, just as he won’t tell her that when he wakes up aching in the middle of the night, it’s her face he’s thinking of. And he won’t tell her for a long time, because she’s his best friend, and he would never do anything to jeopardize that. 

+++ 

_Austria, 1943_

Well they’re fucked now, he knows it. Hell, they all know it. All he wishes is that he’d’ve known it before he ended up here. He wishes he could have sent a letter out. Anything. He wishes he could’ve warned him, you know? Because Stevie, god bless his fucking soul, hasn’t a fucking clue. He’s probably still at home, freezing his ass off as it gets closer to winter. Or maybe it’s winter already. It’s cold enough here, at least. Cold enough in his damn heart. 

He’s got thoughts to warm him. He’s got Steve, tucked in the little corner of his heart, tucked in his right boot, though he’s never got the privacy to look at it. He tries to think of him, wearing those dresses to dinner with his in-laws. The ones that Bucky’s ma is still buying for him because she hasn’t got a clue. He’s probably got a closet full of beautiful linens that he doesn’t have any intention of ever touching except to be polite. 

Bucky wishes he had, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’ll never get to say goodbye. He thinks that maybe George had had the right idea, ending things so as to avoid this. Because he’s getting weak, he can feel it in his bones. Like he’s only made of paper: his skull, his veins, his ribcage. He’s drowning, he thinks. He would have liked to think himself strong. He would have liked to have made it out of here. He had someone to fight for. Someone to come home to. That should be enough to give him strength. But he’s not strong enough or smart enough. He’s only a paper doll. He’s feverish. 

He tells Dugan as much, and Dugan tells him that he can make it, that they’ll be saved any day now. But the day comes where he isn’t quite well enough to work and they take him away and strap him to a table and he knows none of it means anything. Not a god damn thing. 

He’d gotten close to enough of the guys that maybe one of them will get word to Steve. That’s all he can hope for, really. They would tell stories of their girls to keep each other going. It was supposed to be inspiring or some crap like that. Bucky doesn’t remember which pansy started it, but he found himself, more and more, telling them stories about his darling, his light, his life. 

And he was one hell of a storyteller. He could rally those guys, really command an audience. But it wasn’t him, really, it was Steve. All his stories about Steve were what was really captivating, because Steve was, in short, captivating. He would’ve liked to see him, one last time. 

He tells them about Steve fighting men twice his size. He could get anyone to break the “never hit a girl” rule, and he never backed down from a fight. And he could usually get a few good punches in before Bucky would have to come and drag men away by their shirt collars, and kick their asses for daring to put a hand on his friend. And there of course were all those stories of Steve trying to enlist. “I never told her I got drafted,” he ends, sadly. 

He isn’t sure how long he’s on the table. And he doesn’t know what they’re doing to him. He only knows one thing: _survive_. 

It’s a fever dream, that’s all it is. A better than average fever dream. It’s Steve straight from his drawing come to life. Almost. It’s got to be just the drugs, just an experiment. It’s Steve the way Steve said he is: tall and strong and handsome as hell. Bucky’s just imagining it, though. It’s just another test. But he’s got that same face; same eyes, same uneven nose, same mouth. But it’s different. It isn’t how he remembered him. It can’t be real. He doesn’t really believe it. 

So when Steve picks him up and says, _I thought you were dead_ , Bucky has to say _I thought you were smaller_.


	2. But The Night Grows Colder

_Austria, 1944  
_

“You should put some clothes on, it’s cold out.” Steve says, buttoning his pants. 

“Why don’t you come warm me?” Bucky teases him in a low voice, but Steve just laughs and shakes his head a little. Bucky is quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “What are we gonna do?” Bucky asks from where he’s lying naked on the ground. He takes a drag off his cigarette. 

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Steve says with a smirk. He’s putting his shoes back on, but having second thoughts about redressing. 

“Hold that thought,” Bucky laughs and stubs out the butt of his cigarette on the cool dirt. He reaches blindly for his pants, lying in a messy heap in the mud, and fishes another out from his pants pocket. Steve watches him moving in the dark, moonlight filtering down from the trees and he can’t help but to smile. Bucky holds the cigarette up for Steve to light. 

“You’re gonna burn through those and there’s no one home to send more.” 

“Becca,” Bucky posits simply, and Steve nods. “Does she know?” He gestures vaguely at Steve. 

Steve laughs and looks away. “I wrote her. No reply since though. You know she and Bonnie aren’t speaking?” Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, Becca moved into your old room.” 

“Good for her. Best room in the house.” Bucky says and sits up. He’s got leaves stuck to his back. 

Steve nudges him in the hip with his boot. “You were saying?” 

“What are we gonna do when we get home? When all this is over?” 

Something twitches in Steve’s jaw. He doesn’t know. It won’t be easy, he knows that much. God forbid it was easy. He won’t admit it, but he’s nervous about the war ending. Right now, they’re safe, all things considered. Most people haven’t got a clue that Captain America was once known as Stella Barnes. And he plans to keep it that way. 

+++ 

_New York City, 1933_

“I know,” Steve says, sighing and sitting down across from Bucky. Bucky, who was practically invisible behind a stack of books - god what a nerd - looks up at him, smiling. He raises his eyebrows, smiles like he isn’t guilty of a god damned thing. But Steve _knows_. 

It was Pricilla that told him. Apparently, _all_ the girls knew about it, just about. Rather than _saying_ anything, they were just keeping their heads down and avoiding him. Mary Ellen used to be almost a friend to him - they sat next to each other in class and often passed notes and shared materials. Mary Ellen was way cooler than Steve could ever hope to be, but she listened to Steve when he talked, and that was more than he could say for most of his classmates. But she had grown colder and colder towards him around November and Steve had no idea why. It’s not like he’d done anything to her. 

Priscilla told him in January, when they returned from their winter break. It was the end of the day and their lockers were next to each other. _Look_ , she had said, _I know that it’s none of my business, but I just think maybe you ought to know since I don’t think anyone has told you yet_. 

_Told me what?_ Steve said, pulling Bucky’s old brown coat out from his locker. 

Priscilla glances quickly around herself. _You know, about... him_. She gestured at the coat. _I know I shouldn’t say anything because I shouldn’t gossip about my best friend but it’s not really fair that everyone is keeping it from you._

_Keeping what from me? What happened?_ Steve was getting a little nervous now. What happened to Bucky? What doesn’t he know? 

_Oh you really have no idea, do you?_ She didn’t wait for Steve to respond. _Mary Ellen said... uhh... she broke up with Bucky because he likes you, Stella. I mean, can you really be so clueless?_

_No he doesn’t. He’s my best friend._

_Everyone knows. Even before he_ \- but that was when Mary Ellen showed up, and Priscilla didn’t say anything more on the matter. _Have a nice day, Stella!_ She called out as she walked off. And as they left, Steve heard Mary Ellen saying _I thought I told you not to talk to her._

And Steve didn’t want to believe it, but he can’t help it. He can’t help but to know in his guts that it’s the truth. It would explain why Mary Ellen has been so curt with him lately, and _why_ they broke up, since Bucky sure as hell hasn’t mentioned any of the details. And Steve would be lying if he said that that didn’t hurt - because they’re best friends and they tell each other _everything_. 

Bucky and Steve headed to the library after school, as usual, and Steve’s been waiting all afternoon for Bucky to say something about it. He is drawing but all he can think about is Bucky and so he starts drawing Bucky, and Bucky is pretending not to watch and not to notice but Steve can feel his eyes on him every time he looks down at his sketchbook. Finally Steve can’t take it anymore and excuses himself to the bathroom where he steels himself in front of the mirror. He can do this. It’s just one conversation with Bucky. He’s never had a hard time talking to the guy before. 

When he returns to the table he says “I know,” and really just hopes Bucky will explain himself but he honestly knows better than that. 

“I’m sure you know a lot of things, Stevie-boy.” Bucky grins up at him, setting his book aside. He doesn’t mark the place because he was never reading it. It’s all just a ruse. But Steve looks at him and makes a face. 

“Buck, I _know_. I know about Mary Ellen.” Steve realizes he’s leaning really far over the table and Bucky is bright red. And Steve wants, not for the first time, to kiss him. “Why didn’t you just _tell_ me?” 

But Bucky doesn’t answer. He stands up, almost knocking over the chair and starts gathering up his books. Steve starts to gather his stuff too, throwing pencils haphazardly into their special pouch his mother sewed for him. But Bucky is gone by the time he’s put all his papers and supplies in his bag. 

Steve runs after him, runs. And he knows what the rules are, it’s printed in big black block letters over the door: No Running! But Steve is running through the library, checking every row and then taking the stairs two at a time to the upper level, where he finally finds Bucky putting all of the books he had taken from the shelves into the last (and wrong) section. Steve grabs him by the upper arm and spins him around, half an accusation formed in his mouth, only to find himself getting pushed up against the shelves. Bucky is kissing him, hard. And he kisses him back. It’s like he’s been waiting his whole life for this. He’s out of breath but it feels so _good_ in a way he’s never felt before. 

And Bucky is pressed up against him, and Steve’s hands come up to curl in his hair on their own accord. Books fall off the shelves as Steve is pushed further back against them. Steve feels like he’s only ever just been a half, like he’s suddenly become whole. 

The next morning, they’re walking into school and Steve can’t help it. He has to ask _are you sure?_ because he has loved Bucky so sweet, so long, but he never would have expected for Bucky to love him back. Never would have thought he could be here, hand in hand with him. And it’s no fault of his own that he’s used to being overlooked. And Bucky is so cool and popular and everything Steve isn’t. He just needs to know Bucky is sure, because he doesn’t want his friend damaging his reputation for nothing. 

Of course, Bucky says he’s sure, never been more sure of anything in his whole life. But it doesn’t go well anyways. Because Bucky’s so popular and all the girls were pining for him and Steve is so out of Bucky’s league. 

Bucky tells him later that he got into a huge fight with Paul about it, because Paul was making comments about Steve and hell if Bucky would just sit quiet and listen to him and now they aren’t really friends anymore. _Well, what’d he say?_ Steve asked, but Bucky just puts his books away and tells him it’s not important. 

Most of the girls stopped giving Steve friendly or sympathetic smiles in the hall a while back, but it’s gotten worse. Most of them, he realized, are jealous, and think it’s his fault they don’t have a chance at Bucky. Priscilla though, comes up to his locker a few days later and tells him she’s happy for them. 

_You guys make a cute couple_ , she says, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. 

_Thanks_ , Steve replies, a little uncomfortable. _But we’re not a cute couple. It’s just him, and I’m trying to do right by him_. 

_That’s what makes you guys so great_ , she tells him, _you both think the other hung the sun._

_Because he did_. Steve says, and his heart quickens in his chest just thinking about Bucky. He can’t help it but to smile. _Are you going to the wrestling match tomorrow?_ Steve adds quickly, eager to shift the focus away from himself. 

_Probably. Are you going to cheer on your boyfriend?_ Steve turns bright red. _I’m sure I’ll see you there_. Priscilla says and leaves. 

Bucky is at practice, so Steve drags his feet and waits for him to walk home. He sits in the hall outside the gym and works on that drawing of Bucky from the other day. He feels his foot get nudged and looks up to see Ernestine. If it was possible for a person to be less cool than Steve, it would probably be Ernestine. She’s probably his best friend after Bucky though. She lives a few floors down from him and they spend time together when Bucky is busy. She’s got a slight stutter and doesn’t leave the building very often. She slides down the wall until she’s sitting next to him. 

_S-so, Bucky,_ she says, keeping it short. 

_Yep_ , Steve looks back at his drawing. 

_I knew it,_ she smiles at him, _you know that s-some people are giving him a hard t-time about it?_

_I had figured as much._

_G-girls are s-saying things about you t-too. Awful things._

But Steve doesn’t mind. He didn’t ask for this, doesn’t want to be in the middle of it. He’s not going to apologize for being happy, for making someone else happy. He’s not going to hide because it pisses some people off. 

Bucky finishes practice a little early, and Steve is already standing and ready to go. When they walk home, it’s snowing, heavy and wet, coming down in white sheets. They stop at Steve’s house because it’s closer and huddle up on the couch. Steve asks Bucky if he’s still sure. He is. 

The meet is the next day and it would be a lie to say that Steve isn’t an hour early, staking out a front row seat and watching the warm-ups. Ernestine walks with him to the school, the whole time talking about art projects she’s been working on recently. She is a good artist: more cerebral than ability-wise, but (or so Steve has heard) has an amazing grasp of color. She’s been working on a series of portraits lately and asks Steve to be the model for one of them (which he reluctantly agrees to doing). 

Priscilla ends up sitting on Steve’s left, with Mary-Ellen and Marsha and Hester on the other side. Steve is incredibly uncomfortable with this seating arrangement. But all things considered, it’s a good day: Bucky wins all his matches, and Steve breaks Paul’s nose. Though that wasn’t in the original itinerary for the day, it just kind of happened. 

Steve didn’t want to get in the middle of it, but at the end of the meet, when all the guests and spectators finally came down onto the gym floor to congratulate the wrestlers, their friends and family, something happened that Steve couldn’t really forgive. He was approaching the team huddle and some of the guys were giving Bucky a hard time - which was really unnecessary due to his amazing performance. In Steve’s own opinion, this was the best that Bucky had done all season. 

Paul grabbed Bucky by the shoulder and kind of pulled him back. Steve only heard the tail end of what he was saying. _You’re a fucking fairy, Barnes, ya know that? You don’t belong here, you’re too pretty to be a wrestler._

But Bucky can’t keep anything serious and bats his lashes at him. _Aw jeez, Paul, you really think I’m pretty? That’s real sweet and all but you know I’m taken._

Paul shoves Bucky. _Shut up, you queer. You only win cause no one ever wants to hit a girl. Why don’t you just get outta here and make way for the real men?_ And that, of course, is when Steve decks Paul _like a real man_ \- as Bucky will later say. His Claddagh ring would leave a hell of a mark. 

Jason, one of Bucky’s teammates, immediately begins cheering, and a few other people - Priscilla and Ernestine among them - join in. Paul went down with a bloody nose. Steve gets banned from all future matches, but Bucky will tell him he’s proud of him, and that makes it all worth it. 

+++ 

_New York City, 1943_

He’s crying. He didn’t think he would, but he also never expected this to be his life. It’s like everything happens all at once. Erskine is dead. And there’s nothing that Steve could have done to stop it. He caught the culprit, but it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t make it right. 

Peggy is with him when he realizes what the silence that came over the room really meant. The procedure was not just a success. It was unprecedented. It would change the world. _It will make you more of what you are_. Steve thought it would just make him stronger, healthier, taller. He never ever would have dreamt that it would do _this_. 

Peggy approached him with caution, as though she were afraid to spook him. _Barnes_ , she said in a soothing voice. She put a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards a nearby car, where he finally, for the first time, saw his reflection. He put his hands over his mouth and began to sob. He saw his reflection, and he didn’t really believe it. 

_I’m so sorry_ , Peggy starts to say. _Oh, Stella, we didn’t know this was going to happen_. 

Steve shakes his head but continues to cry, he can’t help it. He feels like he’s lived his entire life behind a mask and he’s finally seeing for the first time. And in a way, he is. He can see the red of Peggy’s lips, the brown of her hair, the green of her uniform, the blue of the water behind her. The world is changing, and he with it. 

That night, he will lie awake and ache, as he does every night, for Bucky. But it’s different this time. He wishes he could see him, really see him, as he is. Full colored and fleshed out. He wants to know what his eyes look like. _They’re green,_ Ernestine had told him once, handing him a colored pencil. He had been doing a drawing of Bucky during class. It feels like a million years ago now. 

When he was six years old, he asked his ma what she would have named him had he been born a boy, and she was tired, and she pressed her fingers on her eyelids, trying to remember. Because she’d had a long day and she couldn’t recall right away. _Stella, I always thought you were going to be a girl, sweetie. I didn’t plan for anything else._ But he pressed and pressed until she finally said that his dad said that if he ever had a son, he would name him _Steve._

Steve is twenty five years old, and for the first time in his life, people see him as he is. 

+++ 

_Connecticut, 1930_

The first time Steve ever joins Bucky on his family’s annual trip to the cabin is when he’s twelve years old. At that point in time, he had yet to leave the state of New York, nor had he ventured further than the city limit. He was nervous. He sat in the back seat of the Barnes’ car, wedged between Bucky and his sisters, with Mrs. Barnes in the front seat and Mr. Barnes driving. His knobby knees knock together as they roll over uneven roads. Bucky grins at him and his eyes crease in the corners a little. 

_Can I tell you something?_ He asks when they get to the cabin. They’re standing in the yard looking out at the water, a light breeze whipping the sand around their ankles. 

_You can tell me anything._

_You’re the first friend I ever brought here. It’s supposed to be a “family thing” but I convinced my ma you’re family, Rogers._

Steve didn’t really know what to say, and thankfully, he didn’t have to, because Mrs. Barnes calls them back to help unload the car. She smiles down at Steve as she hands him his bag. He takes it up to the room he’s supposed to stay in. But he inevitably ends up sleeping on Bucky’s bedroom floor every night anyways. They stay up real late into the night talking and one night, even sneak out to go swimming. It’s the start of one of his best summers. 

That summer, something changed between him and Bucky. They weren’t just friends anymore, and they would never be able to go back to that. He knew, on that drive home with Bucky’s head lolling on Steve’s skinny shoulder as he slept, they were so much more. 

+++ 

_New York City, 1942_

In the night, Bucky holds him from behind, wraps his strong arms around Steve and refuses to let go. _When I come home, Stevie, we’re gonna go far, far, away from here. We’re gonna move where no one knows our faces and we’ll be free then._

_Buck,_ Steve says, struggling to turn around in his arms. _You love this city. We can’t go anywhere else. Our family is here._

_And our family can visit. Or we can visit them. I just think,_ Bucky kisses his forehead, pulls him so close Steve can’t even see his face, _I think it would be better for us. We can tell people you’re my brother. They’d believe us._

Steve has to think about that. He knows Bucky is right. If they were to move out to the mountains or some farmland, there will be less people around to give them a hard time. Of course, to leave, they would first need money. And even though they’re both working, the fact of the matter is that they can barely afford the roof above their heads. If it weren’t for Bucky’s parents, some weeks, they wouldn’t have enough money for food. And though his in-laws would never admit it, Bucky and Becca have both hinted that their parents aren’t as well off as they might seem. _Vagabonds:_ the word comes to his mind with no prompting. 

_I think it doesn’t really matter where we are, Steve. If I’m with you, it doesn’t matter._

+++ 

_New York City, 1936_

Sarah Rogers died in October and it felt that the whole world shook in her wake. He wasn’t there when it happened, and it will haunt him for the rest of his life. He can’t even remember what it was that he said to her last. Maybe _see you tomorrow_ or something along those lines. But the worst part isn’t that he can’t remember the last thing he had said, but that he can’t remember the last thing _she_ had said. 

She was sick - tuberculosis - and couldn’t recover. They were hopeful that she would but ultimately, she grew pale and cold and Steve wasn’t there to hold her hand when she passed. He was in the library, and he was gonna be home late and she would probably be asleep when he got back and he didn’t even know anything was wrong until the next day. She was asleep in her room, he didn’t even think to check on her. Not that that would have changed anything. 

It was especially cold that night, and Bucky walked him home. They sat on the front steps with Bucky’s arm slung around Steve’s skinny shoulders, while Bucky smoked and Steve told him about his day at school. Bucky blew the smoke away from Steve’s face so it wouldn’t trigger an asthma attack, and even though he hated the smoke, Steve liked the way it clung to Bucky’s skin. The smell of it reminded him of Bucky, it made him feel like coming home. 

The stars were out in full, with some clouds rolling through the sky, obstructing the moon. It was dark, dark, but Steve could see Bucky’s face, lit from the windows across the street. He’s smiling. Steve knows he’s smoking his cigarette extra slow just to give him a reason to stick around longer, and Steve loves him so much, he isn’t even worried about the rest of his life. It never would have crossed his mind that inside, just beyond these doors and up four flights of stairs, his mother was lying dead in her bedroom. It never would have even occurred to him that he would never see her again. 

In the days to come, his life becomes a whirlwind. He is the only one left and he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s alone. He’s still got classes to go to and homework to do, he’s got a part time job but it won’t pay the bills, and he’s scared. He’s so scared to be so alone for the first time in his whole life. 

Sarah Rogers had raised him all on her own and she did the best that she could and she was only ever completely amazing. She was his hero. She was a nurse and worked all the way up until it got her sick herself, and even then she would have done anything anyone had asked. Sarah Rogers would give you the shirt off her back just so you don’t have to be cold and now she’s gone. 

Bucky will invite him to come live with his family, which he will decline. _Thanks, Buck, but I can get by on my own, he will say._

_The thing is, you don’t have to._ Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. _I’m with you till the end of the line._

But Steve does end up moving in with the Barnes family. Between his medications and rent and food, he just can’t handle being on his own. And the truth is that he doesn’t want to be. He can’t be alone with himself, shuffling around where his mother used to stand. It’s too painful. And he will sleep in Bucky’s bed, wrapped in his arms, and he will breathe in that stale cigarette smoke and the salt water smell, and he will twist his mother’s ring on his finger, over and over and over again. An anxious tick, he will say. God, he misses her. 

+++ 

_France, 1943_

Peggy Carter was fierce and she was smart and she was Steve’s biggest advocate right from the get-go. She helped him through the whole process of becoming Captain America, and without her by his side, he doesn’t think he would have been able to make it. But before that, they were quick friends. 

As soon as Steve Barnes arrived on base, small and weak and all alone, Peggy Carter was right there. They ended up having to room together, as there were no other female soldiers. She had a beautiful accent and a smile to match. She reminded him of Bucky and that hurt, but he had high hopes of seeing him soon. He went through training, struggling the whole time, but Peggy would always tell him he had done well each day. 

Peggy was there for him in the aftermath of the serum, and she helped him talk to the people in charge. She was there when his name was changed from _Stella Grace Barnes_ to _Steven Grant Rogers_ (she was actually the one to suggest “Grant”) and she was there when he was paraded around on a stage like a monkey in a circus. Peggy may have been one of the people who were helping to cover it up, and he’s glad that it was her. She was kind and understanding throughout the whole process, and after. 

Without Peggy Carter, Steve would have never gotten to see his husband again. Without her, Howard Stark would have never flown that plane over enemy territory, and Steve would have never gotten a chance. But it didn’t stop there. She never stopped rooting for him. She was always there, lending a hand or helping him to sneak off with Bucky whenever she was able to. 

On one of their first evenings back together, they were in France, and the lot of them went to a bar. It was crowded, and Steve found himself sticking to the back corners, out of the way. Force of habit, he supposed. Bucky showed up a little late because he needed a moment to himself, and Steve waited with bated breath for him. He felt as though he hadn’t seen Bucky in a million years. 

When the doors opened up and Bucky stepped in, he was bathed in the light pouring in from the street. It enveloped him, for half a second, like a halo Steve always knew he was wearing. He was so beautiful, like someone from a picture show, like a painting, an ancient sculpture of a god. He was the epitome of perfection and Steve’s heart was swelling, a big wave pulling back and crashing down onto shore. Bucky smiled when he spotted him, and Steve had to hide his face because he knew he was blushing like one of those girls in high school. Steve made his way towards the bar, ordered a drink that won’t have any effect on him, and waited by Peggy Carter. 

Bucky made a beeline for the two of them. Rather than talking to Steve, he struck up a conversation with Agent Carter, in that slinky red dress with lips to match. He tapped her politely on the elbow, a gentle ma’am to get her attention. She turned around and he looked down at her and everyone was kind of watching out the corners of their eyes. He took off his hat, looked right over her at Steve and then back down at Peggy, _I’m Sergeant James Barnes_ , he says to her, flashing an award winning smile, _could I have the honor of this dance?_

And Steve knows what he’s doing - rather, trying to do. But it won’t work. Peggy’s already several steps ahead of him. _Sorry, I was hoping to dance with Captain Rogers._ She put her hand on Steve’s arm. Something hurt flashed on Bucky’s face and Steve smiled ruefully at him before he was swept away to dance with her. One of the guys - Morita - took the place they left empty beside Bucky. _That’s rough, buddy,_ he said. 

_You could have accepted one dance with him,_ Steve had told her in a low voice, hands politely positioned on her waist. 

She spun them around, looking around the room, trying to get a better look at Bucky. _He’s your husband?_ She whispered, but it isn’t so much a question as it is a statement disguised as one. Steve nodded, feeling his face redden once again. _He seems nice._

_He is._ Steve confirmed. And for a second, holding Peggy and spinning around in the bar, he is reminded of dance halls on school nights so many years ago. When Bucky would pick him up and dance with him until they were both out of breath and sweating lightly. He’s reminded of making out in back alleys, stowing away every time they pass one because they just couldn’t keep their hands off of one another, and his heart aches. 

They finished dancing and return to the bar to nurse drinks. Peggy called Bucky over from across the room. She was laughing a bit, but apologized nonetheless. 

_No, it’s fine, really. I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend the night with Captain America, am I right?_ And Bucky tried to laugh it off, lightly thumping Steve on the shoulder. He wished, absently, that Bucky’s hands could linger. 

_Oh, you’re absolutely right. That’s why I’ve secured a private quarters for you two tonight._ Peggy informed him in a low voice. She took his hand and placed a key in it. _I’ll see you around, James._ With that, she took Steve by the arm, and led him away once again. 

The key, as it turned out, was for a hotel room a few buildings down. By the time Bucky arrived, a safe twenty some odd minutes later, Peggy had made her exit, leaving the two of them completely alone for the first time in what felt like a thousand years. It may as well have been, for all that has happened between them. 

And God, it’s like it’s the first time he’s ever even seen him, like Bucky’s someone else entirely. And he loves him just as much, loves him more than ever every time he sees him. Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, doesn’t even get the chance to before Bucky closes the distance that spanned between them, slick wet mouth on Steve’s own, needy hands roaming under Steve’s shirt as if to make up for lost time. And Steve responds in kind, pulling him closer, hand on the small of his back as Bucky kisses along his jaw. _Stevie, I need you,_ he whispers, _all of you. Right now_. But then Bucky pulls away and Steve impulsively leans into the space left in his wake. _Come on, I gotta see you_. His voice comes out thick, like the words are a struggle. 

And for a second, Steve is scared. He’s loved Bucky his whole life, longer even, if that’s possible, and though Bucky has known that this is who he is, he’s worried that Buck is all talk. That it’s all just smooth words from a velvet tongue. He takes a deep breath, and nods slightly. Bucky’s deft fingers pull the fabric away, up and over his head easily; well practiced from their years together before. Steve’s taller than him, now, though. 

Bucky lets out a low whistle, but for the first time in that punk’s life, he’s speechless. But he recovers quickly, once again pressing his lips to Steve’s, kissing him deeply, with a new sense of urgency. And Steve can feel something warm coiling in his lower belly; something all too familiar when he was pressed up against Bucky, but the hardness forming between his legs was entirely new, and definitely something he could get used to. 

Bucky pushes forward, until the backs of Steve’s knees hit the bed. He lays back, and Bucky kneels in front of him like he’s praying. He fumbles for a moment with the button on Steve’s pants, never looking away from his face. Bucky’s got this knowing smile. He palms over Steve’s dick before unzipping the pants and ultimately pulls both Steve’s pants and underwear down around his ankles with one smooth motion. And Bucky doesn’t even hesitate, just takes him in his mouth like he’s taking communion, easy as though it’s always been this way. 

Steve leans up on his elbows to get a better look at Bucky at work. God damn, the mouth on that boy. Bucky looks up at him, and takes him whole, letting Steve hit the back of his throat, and in that moment, Steve knew he was a goner. He came so hard he swears he could hear angels sing - Bucky will later tell him that it was just Steve himself. And Bucky, that little shit, just swallows it all with a smile on his swollen, sinful mouth. Bucky crawls up the bed to meet him, kissing him, soft and sweet. He lays down beside Steve and whispers, _I’ve never been much of a believer, but I found God between your legs, Stevie_. And who knows, maybe he did, in his own sort of way. 

But in time, those lazy kisses grow more frenzied, sloppy with need. _I think you’re a bit overdressed here, Buck,_ Steve chokes out, and Bucky obediently strips. Bucky grins and makes to sit up, but Steve stops him with a firm hand on his chest. _You said you wanted all of me, didn’t you?_

Steve didn’t think it possible, but Bucky grins even wider, and settles back down on the bed. Steve takes his time kissing Bucky all over, and it’s one part nerves, two parts needing to savor the moment. Lord knows when they’ll have privacy like this again. He wants to live in this moment: just his lips on Bucky’s skin, and those wild noises coming from Bucky’s pouty mouth. 

And Bucky is so hard, so ready, so familiar in Steve’s hand. Bucky is writhing against him, already coming undone in anticipation. Steve puts his fingers in Buck’s mouth, and he sucks on them, and Steve would be lying if he said that didn’t send shivers down his spine. He reaches down, and pushes the first finger into him. Steve is shaking a little, and Bucky grabs his shoulder, digging his short nails in. He lets out a breath. _Just go nice and slow, Stevie, I promise you won’t hurt me,_ Bucky whispers, as though they haven’t done this part a thousand times before. 

Steve climbs on top of Bucky, their foreheads touching. Steve can feel Bucky’s breath on his face, warm and sweet, the lingering smell of cigarettes all too familiar. One of Bucky’s hands curl in his short hair, while the other one slides down the length of Steve’s body to gently guide him in. Steve was in no way prepared for what it would feel like. Bucky is so very _tight_ and so _hot_ and he’s making these noises that could shake Heaven from the sky. He’s got his head buried in the crook of Steve’s neck, pressing his lips against Steve wherever he can reach. 

Steve started off slow and gentle, but quickly picked up the pace as Bucky hooked his ankles around Steve’s waist. It feels urgent, somehow, and Bucky is whispering benedictions in his ear, a constant stream of validation and praise and increasingly foul language. The things he says would have Steve’s ma rolling in her grave. Soon, though, it’s just _God, Steve, oh my god, fuck,_ and he looks up at Steve and his breath hitches, he whispers Steve’s name, and completely comes unwound, spilling over Steve’s stomach and chest. Steve follows him, filling him before carefully pulling out and curling up next to Bucky. 

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve like Steve’s still small, still breakable. He holds him close and tight, like if he let go, Steve would slip away forever. He holds him like he’s sacred, and when he’s with Bucky, he feels like he might be. Bucky has always made him feel that way: _special_. There’s nothing between them but skin, but they can’t be close enough. In their hearts, it’s warm, but the night grows colder around them, some devil whispering in Steve’s ear that this reverie can’t last. 

+++ 

_Germany, 1944_

The kind of soldier Bucky was and the kind of soldier he becomes are entirely separate entities, but at the end of the day, he is still Sergeant Barnes: the best shooter they’ve got, loyal, and smart to boot. Steve knows, though Bucky won’t talk about it, that he was on the front lines; that he’s looked the worst the world has to offer in the eye without shying away. He becomes, as he’s always been, as he always will be, Steve’s right hand man, his better half, his compliment. He is the glue that binds the Howling Commandos together. He’s the best guy. 

They go on missions, taking out HYDRA bases. It’s dangerous and it’s tiring and Steve wouldn’t rather they were anywhere else. They’re doing good - saving the world, much as Steve always thought they would. They’ve got a good group of guys with them, all capable in their own way. 

It’s springtime, and they’re traveling across enemy landscape on the return trip from yet another successful mission. This far out from civilization, they aren’t so worried, and light a fire. Someone, god knows who, started a conversation about life back home, which inevitably turned to - as it so often does - each person’s love life. Bucky isn’t paying attention, he’s scraping the mud out of his boots, and when it’s Steve’s turn, he gives a cop out answer. 

_Never had anyone before Miss Carter, and that’s too new to say_. He lies to them, and lets the conversation shift and move until it reaches Bucky. The relationship with Peggy was purely constructed for the public, to make him more relatable and sympathetic. He cared for her, deeply, she was his closest friend. But they were a far cry from dating. 

Dugan is the one who makes Bucky talk, calls him out on it. They were in the 107th together, if Steve recalls correctly, and he knows a little bit about Bucky from that. _Hey Sarge_ , he calls out, waving a little to get Buck’s attention. _What about you?_

 _What about me?_ Bucky asks, looking up from his boot. 

_Why don’t you tell us a little about your wife?_ Dugan says. 

Bucky gets this wicked grin on his face and sets the boot aside. He stands up on the log he was sitting on and faces the lot of them. _Ask and ye shall receive,_ he bows a little. _Gentlemen, allow me, if you will, to take you on the journey that is the incredible tale of Stella Barnes_. Someone to Steve’s right claps, either mocking him or already excited for the story to come. 

_I met Stella on a street corner_ \- here, someone gave a small whoop and Bucky held up his hand to quell him - _in 1925_ , he finished loudly. _We were seven, and she was getting the ever-loving shit kicked out of her. I, being the true American hero that I am, saved her from it. And she’s been indebted to me ever since. Stella was my first love, my best love, my only love. But the thing was that we were too dumb to know it. Don’t know how I missed it. Oh, God, Stella, she’s beautiful, you know. Prettiest I ever seen: got these eyes, blue enough to drown in, and a smile to kill ya. And, more than once, she almost did._

Everything is completely quiet, everyone holding their breath listening to him. Bucky’s got this way of speaking that really commands attention, a natural leader when he wants to be. He’s quick as a whip, well read from so many afternoons cooped up in that old library, and you can really tell listening to him. He’s got a voice that just leaves you wanting more. 

_When I was fifteen, I had this girl - Mary Ellen. And she couldn’t hold a match to Stella. I admit, I wasn’t the best, and maybe sometimes called her Stella when we were together and it broke her heart. And Mary-Ellen had these brothers, Richard and George, and they gave me a hard time about it - you know, roughed me up a bit. And it was agreed that no one would talk about it because it would hurt her reputation, so I told Stella I fell down the stairs. And you know what she said? She said “serves you right,” God, she wounds me._ Bucky makes a show of putting his hands over his chest like he’s been hurt. 

_We started going steady a month later._ There’s scattered light laughter, at this. _And I loved her, loved her all my life, but it didn’t hit me until that summer. Or maybe it did, in stages, but it didn’t click into place until that summer, we were at Coney Island of all places, and there she is - still picking fights. Wasn’t even her battle, but she went in, fists raised to defend someone else who was getting picked on. And she got her lights knocked out, I mean, she really didn’t stand a chance! The guy was huge. And then of course I had to go in and save her ass, like I always do. She starts the fights and I finish them._

_We’re sitting on a bench later, and she’s got my shirt all wadded up to use as a rag for her bloody nose, and she’s got not one, but two black eyes forming and blood all over the front of her dress, and her hair is all wild. You know, I never saw someone so good. Not even mad she’s ruining my favorite shirt. Because you see, I realized that she’s made of gold. She’s one of those people who sticks to what she believes in and never backs down, even when she knows it’s against all odds - and it usually was._

_I never told her this, but when we were about ten, her ma told me she wasn’t expected to live past high school. See, she was sick all the time and they couldn’t always afford the medicines. It was chronic things and everything you could catch on top of that, you know? It just wasn’t in the cards. And I used to lie awake at night and dream of being a doctor and saving her, because I didn’t want there to be a future without her in it._

_She never knew, because how can you possibly be happy with your own expiration date branded on you? And every time she’d get an asthma attack or a dizzy spell or cold or anything else, my heart would seize up, and I would think “Oh, God, this is it.” She was so fragile, made of glass and paper. So delicate you could rip her right in half. I think, maybe, her ma told me that to scare me off, protect me from the pain of falling in love with her dying child. Sometimes, I thought Stella was trying to speed up that process, always getting in brawls with impossible foes._

_And I mean, I was always the one bailing her out of fights, but she was my hero. God, I never would have been so brave. I’m not half the man she is. She makes me want to be a better person, and I don’t know where I’d be without her, I really don’t. I just wish I could do right by her, you know?_ His voice has grown quiet, and everyone is leaning forward to better hear him. _She’s a goddamn reckless idiot, but she hung the moon. She makes me want to come home._

+++ 

_Austria, 1944_

“Harder,” Bucky pants, “come on, harder.” Steve grabs his hips, steels himself, and does as he is told. “Fuck me like you mean it!” He demands, needy and weak, already so close that Steve can feel him trembling under his hands. Bucky has his face pressed up against a tree so hard it will leave ridges after, but neither of them care about that now. Now, only one thing matters, and that’s returning to the Howling Commandos before anyone grows concerned at their absence. They don’t want to arouse suspicion. 

Bucky takes one of Steve’s hands from his hips and brings it down, wrapping it around his own cock. “Come on, Rogers,” Bucky mumbles over his shoulder. Then he moans, “oh, Steve” and comes in Steve’s fist, and that’s when they heard the twig snap. It could have been an animal, and Steve silently prayed that it was, but he knew better. He put his clean hand around Bucky’s mouth and held his own breath, growing very still. 

“Cap? That you?” A voice calls out behind them. 

“Holy shit,” a second voice chimes in. 

“Dugan owes me $25,” the first voice says, quietly. 

Steve doesn’t know how he’s supposed to turn and face Morita and Dernier, so he doesn’t. Steve and Bucky had both nearly stripped completely in the summer heat, no shirts and pants around their ankles. He carefully pulls out and pulls up his pants, Bucky following suit, face red from being pressed against the tree and mouth swollen. Steve keeps his head down, but he know’s that Bucky’s got that smug grin plastered on his face. 

For the most part, all of the Howling Commandos handle it pretty well, after the initial shock. Many of them had their suspicions anyways, given all the sneaking off together (and the way Bucky looked at Steve, Morita would tell them). Dugan probably takes the news hardest - expressing concern over Bucky’s _poor wife._

“What about Stella?” Dugan asks. “Don’t you love her?” 

“Stella would be proud to know I fucked Captain America,” Bucky states simply. 

“Got fucked by is more like it,” Morita corrects him under his breath. 

Bucky isn’t even phased by it, doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed or ashamed. He just sticks his chin out like he’s done the country a civil service, “she’d be proud to know I _got fucked by_ Captain America,” he amends. Steve just shakes his head. 

They don’t tell any of the Howling Commandos that they’re married or that Steve used to be known as Stella. That’s their own business. The fewer people that know that, the better. It would be hard to explain, anyways. And if they hold each other when they sleep after that, well, no one says anything. 

That night, Steve thanks God that he’s got Bucky, that he’s got this one good thing, one perfect thing. 

+++ 

_Hell, 1945_

There is a stillness in the air after, a hush, a quiet like there’s no sound at all. The train is still moving, world still turning, the wind is still whipping around them, but the sound is swallowed up by the void, the chasm that Bucky left behind. Steve can’t hear it. Can’t hear anything at all. Not the shots or his team’s solemn apologies. But they don’t understand, can’t understand. They didn’t know the half of it. They didn’t love him like Steve loved him. 

And he loved him, loves him still. It will never end. Just because he’s not breathing, not there to reciprocate the love, doesn’t mean Steve will stop, ever stop, aching for him. Doesn’t think he ever could. Steve thinks that maybe, he’s loved Bucky all his life. Before he ever even met him, even. Like meeting Bucky was his first breath of life, and he’s been struggling to catch his breath ever since. In a sad sort of way, Steve loves him more in wake of this loss. Rather, he is made to look fresh the love that was: like how losing a tooth makes that spot in your mouth all the more noticeable. 

The way we love and the manifestations of said love are highly variable, and unless you are willing to look for the clues in different places, you may spend your whole life thinking yourself alone. Steve’s ma, she was a worrier: she would pray for you and wait up for you, rubbing into those tiny beads of hers. Becca, she was a talker: she would tell you over and over again how much you meant to her, what an inspiration you were or how much she had missed you in your absence. Mrs. Barnes, she was a giver: she would constantly buy presents for those she loved, tokens over her affections. 

But Bucky? Bucky was a fighter. He saved Steve over and over again, and that was his way of love. He was a protector, a caretaker, a watcher in the dark night. He would fight Heaven and Hell and all things in between, breaking his own fists in a battle to protect Steve. Bucky was a fighter, a savior, a hero, always cleaning up Steve’s battles for him, and that was love. 

And ultimately, that was what killed him, wasn’t it? Fighting for Steve - loving Steve. And Steve never deserved it, that love. He couldn’t have asked for it. And the one time Bucky needed him to reciprocate, to reach out and save him, to fight for him, he didn’t. 

Bucky was - _God_ , - he was a prayer, answered and made real. He was a promise, wrapped up in the fragile coil of a human skin. He was a story you tell children, a fairytale ending, a prince. Bucky was the corners of your favorite photograph, worn and soft, but edges nonetheless. He was light filtering in through a dirty window, dusty on a Saturday morning, warm blankets and fresh coffee. He was the lighting of a match, the turning of a key, the first drops of rain before a storm and the storm itself. He was everything Steve had dreamed of as a child but never would have dared to ask for. He was the love of Steve’s life, and he was gone. 

Steve has never been so alone, so tragically abandoned or without in his life, and he doesn’t know how to move on. The days after have teeth, sharp little daggers set in rotting gums, but they’re nothing in comparison to the nights. Each night following is darker and darker still, a blackness so profound it could swallow you whole. Steve wishes it would. 

It doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading! I hope you liked reading this as much as I liked writing this. I may do a third installment in December, after NaNoWriMo, We'll see.


End file.
